


Shattered

by erynwern



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Anthology, Cyberpunk, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erynwern/pseuds/erynwern
Summary: A rambling neo-noir cyberpunk anthology of post-apocalyptic anarchy and rebellion.





	1. Sideways

We scrambled across the tops of the bombed out skyscrapers, dodging gaping holes and the gaze of the air patrols that buzzed closer every ten minutes. Broken concrete and twisted steel are all that remains in this particular section of the once great empire, and the scavengers have picked it over thoroughly. But today, it wasn't scraps of plastics we were after.

"Get your head down, idiot!"

I duck reflexively at Chris' hissed words, and another flyer zips by a few meters overhead.  
"It's out of pattern...they know we're out here" I shoot back, adjusting my goggles with practiced ease to let me see one of the video feeds. "And they've shut down two of my cameras."  
Chris sticks his head around the steel conduit he is leaning against, then takes off in a loping run. I follow, getting my grapple ready for the jump.

The broken concrete runs out, and we plunge feet-first into the chasm between skyscrapers. With practiced ease, Chris flicks out his line. It shoots straight upwards, catching around a concrete pylon. The reel on his belt locks, and with a whine of stressed electronics slows his fall. He leans back, feet extended towards the approaching wall of concrete, and impacts with a thump. I hurl my line, which flies through a gaping rent in the concrete. My own belt takes the strain more gracefully, softly humming as it absorbs the energy of my controlled fall. I swing towards the wall, and slam into it. I unhook the climbers from my utility belt, and start working my way up my cable. Chris is waiting for me in the opening.  
"You need more practice, man. You nearly missed your landing." He offers me a hand.  
"Whatever. You need to fix your reel. That thing gets noisier each time we jump."  
I check the area for energy signatures. The levels are higher than normal, but we are getting close to the track, so it's to be expected. With a ping, my display lights up.  
"Chris, lets go. We have less than fifteen minutes, and two jumps to make."

I push past some hanging moss and into the darkness inside the building.  
My goggles automatically switch to infrared, and my world shifts to swaths of color. The air has a hazy purplish tinge, and I can see a current of warmer pink air coming from behind me. The walls are deep blue, and the floor the same. Piles of rubble are blue with a purple highlights at the corners. My hands are deep, blood red, the color of life.  
The stairwell is choked with vegetation in various stages of decomposition. We slog through it, our boots sliding in the muck despite their grip soles. The final landing is half crushed by a slab the size of a small table, but we manage to squirm through.

I hit a button on the side of my gauntlet, and my display switches back to normal mode. I check my timer. "Eleven minutes, Chris"  
"Yeah, I have a timer too." a note of irritation creeps into his tone, and I realize that he is just as tense as I am. We race through the concrete maze of the rooftop, ducking past the shattered remains of more than one aircraft, shot down by the unsleeping aim of the auto-cannons at the perimeter. The break comes, and we launch ourselves into space. This time, there's no convenient hole into the building, so we have to work our way up the outside of it. By the time we get to the top, we have less than six minutes to go.

"It should be just off the edge here" I yell, and without waiting for Chris, I take off, vaulting over a rusted railing. He follows, still coiling his cable. We both duck under cover as another flier goes past, the twin engines making it sound like a giant hornet, the cannon prepped and hanging from the belly reinforcing the image.

My guess proves correct, and the track looms in the space below us as we cautiously look over the edge. Huge plasteel cables stretch through space supported by thousands of interconnecting cables that also form a web to keep out falling debris. We crouch behind the wall, waiting.

A deep rumbling fills the air, and we grin at eachother. I hand him the canister strapped on my back, and he sockets it into the cylinder he had been carrying. He sets the entire thing down, and with a press of a button the expansion bolts set themselves.  
"Any second now..." I say, setting my goggles for capture mode. The rumbling changes, and hints of a higher tone become clear. I tilt my head, and then my eyes widen in fear. "...Chris, get down!"  
Chris spins and throws himself flat on the cracked concrete just as a dark orange dropship blasts straight up, mere centimeters from where we were standing, obviously having been hugging the wall to avoid being seen by us. The backwash from the jets throws hot dust up in a cloud.

I scramble backwards just as the dropship opens up with a hail of small arms fire, losing sight of Chris for a moment. I gain my feet and dive towards the nearest pile of concrete, but before I can move more than a meter the dropship fires its cannon.

The shot hits just ahead of me, flinging me backwards and to the side. My head is ringing, and I can feel blood running down my shoulderblade. With a grunt of effort, I push myself up onto my hands and knees, and lunge for the smoking hole in the concrete. Chris rolls through the smoke and grabs my arm, pulling me forward, and I nearly scream in surprise both at his appearance and at the sudden sharp pain in my shoulder.  
Chris goes through the hole feet-first, pulling me through just after him. We hear heavy objects hit the concrete, and know that we are being pursued.

I stumble into a corner, clawing at my burning shoulder. My hand connects with something sharp, and this time I do let out a quiet yell of pain. Chris claps a hand over my mouth, then pushes me onto the floor, already stripping out of his gloves to see what he can do for my wound.

"You have a shard of something in there. Bite down on something, this may hurt." With no more preamble than this, he grips the exposed end and jerks straight out.  
I bury my head in the crook of my elbow, clamping my mouth shut to keep from making a sound. He applies something to it, and the area goes numb.  
"You're probably going to feel this later, but that will be enough until we get some distance from the troopers." he hurls the bloody shard into the darkness.  
"We're aborting?" my voice cracks, and I have to say it twice.  
"No, we just can't do it here."  
Chris slaps a button on his gauntlet, and with a hissing whine his carbine powers up.  
"What are you doing?!? We agreed cold weapons only for this!"  
"If they are going to be shooting at us, I am going to shoot back."  
"We agreed! You..."

My words are cut off by the clatter of a canister to the floor below the hole in our roof. "Grenade!" I dive for the doorway, smacking my lower back on the frame as the grenade goes off. Shards of steel ping off my boots, but I don't feel anything pierce my skin. I haul myself to my feet and stumble through the doorway, almost running into a fallen roofbeam. Chris is right behind me, and we squeeze past into the darkness of the building interior.

The armored figures of the guards pass our concrete foxhole, then one of them stumbles. A heartbeat later, six pencil thin rods shoot out of the floor around him, and he and two of his comrades disappear into a red tinged haze of blast propelled steel and shattered armor. The others take cover, allowing us the opportunity to burst from our hiding spot, going the direction they came from. I double over, vomiting as my stomach rebels at the image. I almost fall, and Chris jerks me to my feet, pulling me away from the scene.

Three steps later, he turns a corner and slams into an armored figure, sending all three of us to the floor. The soldier grunts with effort, and a shining spike suddenly sprouts from Chris' lower back. I pull a short blade, trying for a clear strike, but the soldier heaves against Chris, keeping him inbetween us. Chris moves, his knee striking against his opponent's armored belly, and then he lashes out with the heel of his hand, slamming the soldier's head back. With deliberate strength, Chris slams his forearm against the man's throat, ending his shout for help in a strangled gurgle.

We struggle to our feet, and Chris jerks the knife from his belly. A rush of dark blood colors his shirt, and he meets my eyes. Reaching into his pack, he removes a grenade, letting the pin fall but holding the lever.  
"Go." Chris' command is barely intelligible between his gritted teeth.

I grab up the bloodstained knife from where it had fallen, and run.


	2. Thump

The gritty crunch of sand under my boots echoed loudly in my ears. Every step lands with a thud and scrape no matter how hard I try to stay quiet. I'm waiting for the dull thud of a grenade behind me. I vault a low pile of rubble, and then my ears pop, the rocks on the floor jump slightly, and I feel more than hear the explosive go off.

The orange status icon at the edge of my periphery goes briefly red, then neutral grey. Under normal conditions, that could mean any number of things. Power pack died. Broken antenna coil. Software error in the status module. Gauntlet removal for some reason. My mind turns over each of them as I continue through the dark hallway. Broken windows and rotting doors to my left paint strips of light into my path. I keep moving at a steady pace, letting the routine of evading a search pattern occupy my attention.

The hallway ends in a yawning chasm, multiple floors pierced by a shaft ringed in balconies. A practiced flick of my hand sends the line up four or five levels, and my climbers click as they lift me skyward. A droning roar comes from above, but it's not close. I'm safe for the moment. Several bits of rubble fall silently into the abyss as I haul myself over the railing, trying to ignore the stinging in my shoulder. The roof is only a few more levels up, and I want to make it up before the painkiller wears off.

With a grunt of effort, I pull myself up one last time. The droning is closer, but not too close. The top level is breached in multiple places, making moving in a straight line difficult, but with this much air coverage, I can't risk a sprint across the exposed rooftop. The hallway ends a dozen meters from the edge of the building, crushed under the fuselage of a cargo flier. A quick jump and slash, the thin metal caves, dumping me into the blackness of the cargo hold. My display flickers red, then melts into a pattern of dark blue squares. I drop a marker just in case I survive this, and cut my way out of the other side.

The track is directly in front of me again. Thin strands of hybrid plastic are fused to every nearby structure, looking tiny despite their size. My display springs to life as I ping my remaining cameras. Only three or four left, leaving me feeling blind and exposed. According to my status module, the transport is still in range. I pull up my last cam feed, then with a quickly tapped command, I set it into motion.

The building shakes one more time as a cylinder the size of a loaf of bread accelerates past the sound barrier in the space of a quarter second. The distant roar of hoverjets abruptly ends, and the web before me lurches, then begins to dissolve. Within a moment, the material foams, solidifies, and then shifts as the entire structure recoils to repair the damage. I don't wait for the process to finish, throwing my line out and up, then swinging once more into the abyss. With the repair taking place, an additional disruption in the web won't be as noticeable, or at least that was the idea.

After slicing several strands and pulling myself up, I pull the shell strapped to my back loose and fold it open. Long enough for me to lay on, ribbed in one direction, it spans the holes in the webbing with ease. Holding the narrow sled in front of me, I launch myself forward, biting down to keep from crying out as my shoulder hits hard. Within a few seconds, I'm flying across the surface, skittering along the iron hard plastic just inches from my faceplate. My intercept slope is off slightly, and I tilt carefully to adjust my course.

Despite the delay, the transport is still there, hanging from the plasteel cables like a tumorous spider, all dark and angular and alien. The array of coils stretch out from it, hovering a meter from the webbing on each side, massive jaws clamped on to the cable, anchoring it in place. I can see my target, an oval of opaque dullness halfway along the side. I watch my display, then clench myself tight as the rangefinder falls below the fifty meter mark. At three meters away, faster than I can react, a shimmer of energy flickers into existence, protecting me for the split second of full deceleration as the sled, acting as the surrogate for all of my kinetic energy, folds in half as it slices a triangle the hull plating of the transport.

With a grunt of effort, I launch myself boots first into the hole.


	3. If You Love Me

The ventilation duct was cramped, and I had no sheath for the knife. Between keeping from cutting myself and trying to stay quiet, I almost missed the soft, rich sound of a piano echoing from a side opening. Easing myself along, I press my cheek against the metal panel, peering through into the luxurious stateroom beyond. Getting here had been no mean task, but I had gotten onto the moving trackship, despite the efforts of the guards. The piano music filters to me from the vent, but all I can see is the wall. I crawl along further, to the next junction, and turn to the left. This duct is terminated by an access hatch, which should let me into a crawlspace. Removing the cover from the inside leaves my fingers raw even through my gloves, but the piano music still faintly plays despite the time elapsed.

I reflexively check and adjust my gear, then decide to leave my pack behind. My blades securely in place, I slip along the reinforced girder, careful not to make any noise as I creep closer to the lilting melody. The ceiling panels are soft, and easily removed, allowing me a careful look at the room below.

It's a small antechamber, furnished with a casual elegance implying comfort without formality. Double doors give a glimpse of a brilliant white baby grand piano, but the pianist is hidden by the ornate aperture. As I shift my grip on the panel, the melody fades, and her voice floats through the silence, filling it with a music far more subtle.

"You don't have to hide. I know you're there."

I nearly drop the panel, but manage to set it back in its place and move away, trying to reach the air duct.

"Oh, please don't run. This is important." The piano stirs to life again as her words fade to silence, and I risk peeking into the piano room from close to the wall, careful not to move anything.

Her eyes...staring directly at me, hands carrying on the tune with a life of their own. Such a beautiful tune, speaking of longing and searching, heartache and much needed kindness. With a start, I pull back, letting myself slide back into the darkness. Her music plays on, and I can't shake the feeling of those eyes. Pale blue irises shot through with silver, deep with knowledge and sadness.

There in the darkness, I pause, and then nearly without realizing I have done it, I turn back. The music continues playing, but slower now, almost a somber march. The panel in the antechamber lifts silently, and I drop into the room, landing catlike on all fours. I can see her hands through the crack where the hinge in the double doors is, as they touch the keys delicately, lovingly, drawing the soulful sounds into being. I find myself caught again, for another endless moment, as the music draws to a close and ends on an impossibly high note.

The carpet absorbs all but the tiniest sounds as she rises from the bench, smoothing her gown. Light and airy, silver green and flowing from her wrists in great fluted sleeves. The dress accents her height, as she stands nearly as tall as I do. Her hair falls in a wave, caught back with simple combs. A necklace of tiny stars, with the moon as pendant, sits cradled by her collarbone.

"Are you afraid?" she asks, startling me with how close she has gotten in those few seconds, although time stretches oddly.

I realize that my blade is in my hand, leaving red drops on the patterned carpet. I cannot think what I wanted it for, it seems so out of place. I lower it, letting it slip to the floor. The soft clunk seems far away, and my limbs feel heavy. What am I doing here?

"Lady...what do you will?" my voice sounds strange, like that of another.

"You came here for something. Do you remember what it was?"

"I...am not certain. It does not seem to matter now."

"It is very important." Her hand touches my cheek, and I realize with a start that she is right next to me. My hands, empty now, feel naked and weak, and I pull at my knife, which seems to stick in the sheath. She draws back as it comes free, the slightly curved blade reflecting her eyes as I angle the tip towards her.

"Yes, you do remember. See?" She steps suddenly towards me, her hands pull at my wrists, setting the tip of the knife against her throat.

The the softness gone in her tone now, and only pleading remains in her steel-bright eyes, looking into me, all too knowing as she says "If you love me, you will kill me."


	4. Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evacuations are not fun.  
> Firefights during an evacuation are worse.

"Get in the van and drive. Drop your things, get in now, and go."

I shout hoarsely over my shoulder, trying to get the last few people out of the space.  
Earth hue walls and metal floor gratings for the vehicle tires surround me, and I position myself behind one of the few remaining piles of synthboard.  
The thin metal sides of the building twang and moan from slugs traveling at just-barely-subsonic speeds, and the main door gives way as the engine starts.

The first two come through the door, and I punch neat holes in their helmets.  
They topple without a sound.

"Go! If you don't go now, we all die!"

She was one of the last few out of the tunnels.  
I yell at her to hurry, and concentrated on the doorway.

The barrel of the RPG coming around the corner stole my attention, and when the van roared and squealed out of the warehouse, I relax slightly, knowing that everyone is safe.

I turn to dive away and trip over her lifeless form, slipping on bright frothy lung blood.  
The impact of the RPG against the opposite side of my wood pile throws the carefully stacked boards into a rain of plastic splinters and partial planks.

Intense pain in my side. I scramble to my feet and start hobbling towards the drainage tunnel we dug. My exit is through the network of sewers.

Sixteen meters

Another one of them appears in the doorway, spewing hard light and superheated metal at my former post.

Ten meters.

A door directly across from me falls outwards with a crunch, and their weapons fire, punching dime sized holes in the wall as I dodge erratically.

Seven meters.

Two more, and then a third, come through the first doorway, immediately lining crouching and lining me up.  
The thump and shock pushes me against the wall.

Three meters.

I fall in a long forward arch, my now-useless left shoulder drawing a lazy curve of red against the faded brown wall.

Half a meter.

I fall to my knees, the grating yields to my fumbling, and I slide inside, pulling the cord to fuse metal reinforced plastic into a solid mass over the entrance.


	5. Fallout

"Why are you here, outsider?"

Sighing at the necessity of interacting with another human today, I stop intentionally ignoring them and look up from my container of orange juice.  
The thin individual looming over my table for two is most definitely not who I was waiting for.

"I wanted some orange juice."

Pausing for a moment to sip from my mug, I evaluate the situation. The speaker wouldn't be a problem, but the three others lurking over by the cookies and sweetbread will make things interesting. Too many unshielded civilians to deploy anything significant, and I doubt they will let me come back here if I make a mess of the place.

"So, I went to the counter, paid, and then sat down here."

I flash the teenager operating the till my best smile, then mouth "get out of here" at them, before looking up and meeting the eyes of my new 'friend'.

"Would you like some? It's delicious."

Setting the empty carton on the table, I watch the other three orbit closer, eyeing their almost-matching, almost-uniform jackets and belts.  
My initial expectation of immediate conflict isn't met, however, as the first one sits on a reversed chair.

"Orange juice is fine. However, this is a formal request for you to vacate the area and not come back." they finish in a low tone, looking up at the ceiling, almost but not quite acting bored.

"I have some things I need to finish up here. Any chance I can head out after that? The next nearest place to buy replacement water filters is almost twenty kilometers away, and I've been running low on fuel."

Matching my tone to theirs, I feign similar disinterest in the conversation. I do need filters and fuel, but in all seriousness, I was hoping to just relax for a bit. Having to leave now will mean a stressful trek across the DMZ between two factions, with the possibility of being shot on sight as I approach the other side, just for coming from this particular direction.

"We are prepared to escort you out, if necessary. You've finished your drink, now it's time to leave."

My heart rate is rising a bit. I breathe slowly, working to avoid giving them any reason to use force.  
I stand up, slowly, then unhook my backpack and helmet from the chair to my left, hefting them to my back as I move towards the door.

 

* * *

 

Outside, my bike is in the process of being impounded by a heavyset individual, with six more looking on. The four from inside have followed me out, and the one who spoke to me is grinning slightly.

"Was this completely necessary?" I nod towards the sign for motorcycle parking, directly in front of my bike "I've not violated any of the posted parking rules, to my knowledge."

The jacketed individual operating the winch ignores me, continuing to use an electric remote to drag my method of transportation from the pavement into a small trailer. The cable is wrapped around the front forks, and there is significant damage to the brake lines from the force that has been applied.

Positioning myself between the bike and the trailer, I rest a hand on the handgrip and squeeze the brake, making the winch strain against the additional resistance.

"Excuse me. This is my bike. I would like to use it to leave town, as has been requested."

Again, the individual operating the towing operating ignores me.

"Can you please *not*?"

My emphasis on the last word is punctuated by the ripping sound of a rapidly deployed plasma arc cutter from my left hand and the 'ping' of the severed tow cable against the metal grating on the trailer ramp.  
The shock of seeing normal-looking flesh twist and disgorge a high energy tool is enough to keep anyone from reacting immediately, and my bike hums to life before they recover.

I open up the throttle, leaving a long thin scorch mark on the pavement as the internal turbines roar to full and the control subsystems keep the power within stable limits for a standing start.

Blinking crimson indicators change to yellow as I acknowledge the damage to the front section, but the indicator for my fuel tank still blinks 'empty'.

I really hope it's just sensor damage. If I'm out of fuel, things just got a lot more dangerous for me.


End file.
